


Don’t Say a Word

by CedarTheBarefoot



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Complicated Relationships, Hurt, Implied Arthur Morgan/Mary Gillis-Linton, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oneshot, Spanking, Young Arthur Morgan, Young John Marston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CedarTheBarefoot/pseuds/CedarTheBarefoot
Summary: It wasn’t exactly unusual for Arthur and John to argue and pick at each other. But this time, John seemed to have chosen the wrong argument. He might have known better, but he was angry. Angry at Mary Gillis. Angry with Arthur for...well, he wasn’t so sure what.Perhaps this time, they both went a little too far...
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 171





	Don’t Say a Word

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I wrote this today because I was bored as hell...and I’ve got things on the brain...ahem. 
> 
> Figured I’d share this little oneshot with you all.
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> Note: I know I don’t have to tell you this, but like...please ask before you spank people. Like, informed consent is pretty required.

John sniffled wetly, pressing his face down against the back of his hand. Grass tickled his chin. The smell of the earth was pungent from the little divots he’d carved in it. Dirt was embedded under his nails that were bitten short. 

His right shoulder ached from his arm being pinned so firmly behind his back. But it was of little consequence compared to the bright burn of his arse. John winced, a pained shiver punching air from his lungs when a large hand rubbed firmly at his left cheek. 

It hurt. But…

Swallowing hard to wet his dry throat, he mouthed, “Arthur,” but stopped up any sound at the last moment. There was absolutely _no_ way that the big man couldn’t feel how hard John was. Not with the way he was haphazardly sprawled over his lap, practically straddling one of his large thighs. He kept his head pressed down against the dirt just over Arthur’s left shoulder. 

_Don’t say anything_ , John told himself, unsure of what to do. Or what would happen. All he knew is that he didn’t want whatever was happening to stop. 

Mere moments ago, he was of a different opinion. 

It wasn’t exactly unusual for Arthur and John to argue and pick at each other. But this time, John seemed to have chosen the wrong argument. He might have known better, but he was angry. Angry at Mary Gillis. Angry with Arthur for...well, he wasn’t so sure what.

If he was truly honest with himself, he would admit that he was jealous of her. Arthur would disappear with her for weeks at a time. And more and more often, he’d return solemn and upset. And John hated her for it. He knew logically that she was a kind woman, clean, and pretty, but she was from a different world than they were. But there was always a small chance that she would take Arthur from them forever. Small, but still a chance. 

Thankfully, that’s not how things played out.

Now she’d really hurt him. John knew. He’d eavesdropped on that conversation Arthur had had with Hosea.

He hated how Arthur had let her string him along. Hated how he’d entertained thoughts of leaving them all, and leaving John behind. And when they were finally alone, John couldn’t wait to tell him so. 

Setting up camp for the night went much slower when you were yelling at one another. Arthur had been angrily hammering stakes into the ground, pitching the tent while John was building a fire under the spitted rabbit they’d caught for supper.

_“Keep pushin’ me, Marston, I dare you. Yer actin’ like a damn child.”_

_“I ain’t pushin’! And there ain’t anything childish about my opinion on Mary fucking Gillis.”_

_“If you open your mouth about Mary one more goddamn time, I promise you, John Marston, I will whoop your ass.”_ Arthur said, his voice low and dangerous.

_“I’m just sayin’,”_

_“Marston, I’m warnin’ you,”_

Perhaps John should have stopped then.

_“When are you gonna get it through your fat, stupid skull that you were never gonna be good enough for that woman, or her fucking family?”_

_“That’s_ it. _You wanna act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one.”_ Arthur growled threateningly, throwing down the hammer. Then he was on his feet, looking angrier than John had ever seen him before. And he was stomping towards him. 

At first, John thought Arthur was going to punch him. No. Instead, he’d grabbed him by the wrist and twisted. The sharp pain had made John realize how well and truly he’d fucked up. When John had slipped out of his grip, he chased him into the trees. 

Arthur was, for his size, deceptively quick. He caught him easily. Wrestled him to the ground, dragged him over his lap and proceeded to beat his ass just like he’d promised. 

John hadn’t had a spanking since he was a boy back when his drunkard of a father was still alive. He was nineteen now, and too old for such treatment. Or so he’d thought.

It seemed like it happened so fast, but also like it went on forever. His canvas trousers did very little to protect him. Arthur had him pinned fast, wrenching his right hand around behind his back. Ignored the kicking, bucking and while spanking him with his open hand. And it fucking hurt.

Each stinging blow left him gasping. Arthur was strong, and he was angry. He didn’t hold back. Soon enough, John’s vision was blurring, and he’d protested himself hoarse. Weak, muffled cries left him instead, legs tensing up after each slap, boots idly digging at the ground.

But now he was quiet and still, and so was Arthur.

 _Don’t say a word,_ he told himself.

John didn’t know what to do, and he realized that maybe Arthur didn’t either. They were both panting heavily from the exertion, from their emotions being built up in the air making it feel thick and heady. Sweat caught in the creases of their clothing in the quiet. It wasn’t exactly calm, their hearts were racing too quickly for that. But the fiery anger that had pulled their evening along like a wild, untamed horse seemed to slow and dim.

Just then, Arthur’s grip slid slowly from the wrist he had trapped at the small of John’s back and into his hand. 

Their fingers intertwined, and held on tight together. A silent reassurance. Arthur squeezed once. Asking if he was okay? John squeezed back. Yes. Yes he was. 

They didn’t move. They said nothing. The only sounds were chirping crickets, the crackling of the small fire in camp and their combined heavy breathing. Too nervous say anything to disturb the quiet. Unsure what they should do next. This was new. 

Arthur helped John to sit upright, hands gently laid against his flanks. John settled his own hands nervously on the bigger man’s shoulders, looking down between them. There definitely was no hiding how hard his cock was as it twitched against the bigger man’s thigh. And there was no hiding the obvious bulge in the front of Arthur’s trousers. 

A deeper quiet settled between them. Quiet as they could be at least, considering how their hearts were stampeding in their chests. They avoided looking at each other directly in the eye.

Arthur’s hands slid down, fingers pressing slightly into the dip at the small of John’s back. Pulling his hips down against his own. Their cotton canvas-covered groins slotted together. The small, stilted puff of breath against his mouth gave him pause. Had he gone too far? 

He’d been so angry. He’d listened to John’s digging all evening. His petulance over something that wasn’t any of his goddamn business. So, he’d lost his temper and gave in to the need to hurt him. To humiliate him. 

John ground his crotch against Arthur’s, sighing softly.

_Fuck._

Arthur tilted his hips up in return. Together, they developed a smooth rhythm, unbroken by something so foolish as rationally talking this through first or confronting what was and had already happened. Damn the consequences. 

John’s trousers were uncomfortably tight. So, without a word, he reached down with one hand and started pulling loose the buttons on his fall-front trousers. Arthur followed suit, undoing his flies. It made the process a bit more difficult, as John was fixated on Arthur’s efforts. 

He’d seen the bigger man change clothing over the years. He’d felt it press up against him when they’d occasionally shared a bedroll for warmth over the years. He was very vaguely familiar with Arthur Morgan’s cock. To see it like this was uncharted territory. 

Seeing it freed was a marvel by itself. Seeing how Arthur wrapped his hand around it, stroking it, was even better. The crown looked reddened and velvety, weeping slowly against his fingers as the vein down the length pulsed. John looped an arm around Arthur’s neck, gasping softly when he finally got the flap loose, reached into his own trousers and got a hand around his straining prick. 

Their breath mingled, close enough almost to taste as they rested their heads together. Panting like overrun horses. John gasped sharply when Arthur slid his hand down from his waist to firmly grasp one of his thoroughly abused arse cheeks. Kneaded the achy flesh, pulled him in by it. Their knuckles bumped awkwardly together as they tugged furiously at themselves, eyes sinking closed. 

_Don’t say a word, don’t ruin this._

Pleasure zinged it’s way up their spines. The fine hairs on their bodies were all standing on end as the air grew thin and difficult to breathe. Their hips faltered in their thrusting, a pair of gasps making their lips feel cold. But everywhere else they were astoundingly warm. 

_Keep your mouth shut._

Arthur grunted, heaving breath like the bellows, coming off over his fingers, brushing deliriously against John’s. The younger man for his part followed moments after with a high-pitched whine, tumbling over the edge as his own release added to the quickly growing mess between them. The heat of their combined breath and the hot ribbons of spend was nearly too much. Together they rode through their shudders of completion, both acutely aware of how close their mouths were.

Eventually, it grew still and silent once more as the two of them came down. Their filthy hands settled loosely in their laps. Their other hands continued to hold gently onto each other. John’s still looped around Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s still cupping John’s arse.

What had they done? 

Neither moved since they were afraid to do so. It was one thing to have an argument, go to sleep angry and just not talk to each other for a couple of days. It was one thing to have a smidge of a fistfight that ended with the two of them rolling around on the ground with Dutch barking at them to knock it off. It was one thing to share a bedroll on nights when it was too cold to sleep alone and wake up to something hard pressing up against your backside, and then just not talk about it.

But something like this? To _confront_ something like this?

No. John couldn’t let this be something that they never acknowledged. It _couldn’t_ become something that they pretend never happened. So he pulled away. 

Not enough to put any real distance between them. Just enough to look at Arthur. The big man blinked his eyes open to look back at him. Damn, they were blue. Quiet, and tense.

The pair waited for the other to say something or do something else. Berated themselves for their cowardice while their minds were in a whirl thinking of every scenario that could go wrong.

John spoke, his voice small and hoarse, “M’sorry.”

“...S’okay,” Arthur murmured cautiously back, “I’m sorry too.”

Arching his brow in genuine confusion, John asked softly, “For what?”

Arthur grimaced, and said nothing. Instead, he smoothed his hand around the curve of John’s thoroughly spanked bottom.

“ _Oh,_ ” John breathed, blushing, fingers curling in the soft, blond hairs on the back of the bigger man’s head. He swallowed, eyes sinking closed as he pressed his brow against Arthur’s, “S’okay. I deserved it…’sides I kinda...I kinda liked it.”

“I noticed,” Arthur replied quietly, closing his eyes too. A puff of air brushed against his mouth when he heard the breathy laugh. He couldn’t help but respond in kind. 

And then they were silent again. 

No words were said as they tucked themselves back into their trousers, and went back to camp to clean up. The rabbit was a little overdone on one side on account of their escapades, but it was still edible. Arthur finished pitching the tent, and they sat to eat. 

John wasn’t exactly sitting so much as he was fidgeting. Finally, he gave up, and reclined on his side in his bedroll, propping himself up on one elbow. 

“Bit sore, there, Johnny?” 

“Little bit,” he replied with mirth. Then he looked down at the piece of rabbit meat in his hand, “Can I ask you a question, Arthur?”

“...Sure.”

“Will we...will we ever do something like that...again?” 

Both men were surprised at John’s boldness. 

And they were equally surprised at Arthur’s response.

“I hope so.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and/or kudos!  
> Lovely to hear from you!


End file.
